Chapter 22: Heaven and Hell

The next six months of my life were the happiest that I had ever experienced. Even the return of Jarvis Braxton-Clark to the battalion could not diffuse the golden glow that seemed to envelope me.

There had been rumours that his attachment to the Yeomanry was at an end. Some say it was because of his complete ineptness, both as a training officer and as second in command, but it was probably because the Life Guards had recently taken over guard duty at Windsor Castle, where Mad King George was now confined.

Jarvis still hoped to be admitted to their ranks, although he had not yet sired an heir, and believed he could further his ambition better from Hounslow rather than from Salisbury. The Wiltshire Yeomanry would have to find another Major, assuming the regiment had really needed one in the first place. I thought it likely that the whole idea had been a stratagem of the Braxton-Clarks to enable Jarvis to father a son, obviously it had failed.

He had come swaggering into the Officers' Mess at Hounslow barracks one morning wearing the uniform of a Major of Wiltshire Yeomanry. If he had meant to overawe us, by appearing as a superior rank, he soon had his nose put out of joint by Major Bywaters.

"Your attachment, and rank of acting major, finished two weeks ago, Jarvis. I expect to see you wearing your correct rank, and uniform, by this evening."

Jarvis gave him a scowl as he turned on his heel to leave. He saw me, and his scowl deepened.

"I hoped I'd seen the last of you, Greenway. I heard you had come into a fortune, and I would have expected you to buy a commission away from these farm boys." He gave me a sardonic, mirthless, smile. "Oh, I forgot. You are nothing but a plough boy yourself, and therefore feel perfectly at home in this regiment of country bumpkins."

With that parting shot he left the mess.

I was sitting with Billy Bassett, who looked amazed at what he had heard.

"Who the devil was that?"

"That was Jarvis Braxton-Clark."

"He don't seem to be a great admirer of yours, Jack."

"I can assure you that the feeling is mutual."

"The fellow looks to be a pukka sahib, but he sounds, and acts, like a blackguard."

"You have just summed up Jarvis Braxton-Clark in a nutshell, Billy!"

The Bell at Brentford became a mail box for the many letters between Amy and me, and I became the most zealous of postmen in visiting that posting box. Most of our meetings were also kept at that tavern, as it had comfortable rooms which were available, at a price, for an afternoon, or an hour, or for a night. 'Discretion is our watch word', the publican had informed me, when I first made enquiries for a room. The Curzon Players gave performances in many of the grand houses to the west of the metropolis of London, and the Bell was in a central position for most of these venues.

Long afternoons, sometimes whole nights, I would spend entwined in Amy's arms and legs. Clenched, cradled, caught and cocooned in her chariot of fire. And what a fire—-it consumed me, but like a phoenix I would rise again from the flames of her passion, and I dwelt in heaven when I dwelt in her.

We had just completed a bout of what I can only describes as the most wonderful love making that I had ever been fortunate to receive. We were both left gasping and shuddering by the soul shaking experience that we had shared. Her moans, and my groans, of exquisite pleasure were as the chorus of Angels. No sweeter music exists than that produced by two sated lovers.

It was a mild autumn afternoon, and we had swived and galloped for an hour or more, raising quite a sweat in our passionate abandon. As usual Amy fetched a cloth and water and cleaned my plunger; she then attended to her own portal. I watched, lovingly, as she soaped and washed her chariot, and then her breasts, with their still turgid nipples.

Amy glanced over at me, and smiled when she saw where my gaze was fastened.

"I see that Mr Thomas is looking rather supine, Jack. Do you think I could raise him if I whispered in his ear?"

She had a mischievous look on her face, and I had no doubt that given the right circumstances Mr Thomas would rise to the occasion, but it would only flatter to deceive, for I knew I was drained.

I told her so, and she said.

"Well, it is plain that you grow tired of me, and that you are already casting around for a new companion. I saw you looking at that serving girl with lecherous eyes."

She knew full well that I had eyes only for her, but she was in a teasing mood. Although I must admit the serving girl downstairs in the tavern was indeed a comely young wench, with a mass of raven black hair.

"Not only do I not look for another, but I wish you to be my constant companion. I want you for my wife. Will you marry me, my sweet Amy?"

Amy stopped her washing; water trickled down her body unheeded, and puddled at her feet.

"Jack!" She came over and kissed me softly on the lips. "You are the sweetest and kindest man I know, and I do love you, but I will not marry for love but only for wealth and position, and that, my love, you do not possess!"

I was crestfallen—-if she had kicked me in my nugs I could not have been more surprised or injured.

"But you love me—-?"

She stopped me with a hand on my mouth.

"My mother married for love; her family were well to do but she fell in love with a traveling actor. She married him against her father's wishes and was cast out of the family."

Her face twisted in pain as she remembered past days.

"My father left my mother when I was a babe in arms. She worked at the most menial tasks to keep us alive, finally selling herself on the streets—-that is where love took her."

Amy face was white with suppressed anger, and her eyes were a flinty blue.

"My mother died when I was ten years old. I swore on her grave, a pauper's grave, that I would marry only for a position in life, and not for that fickle fleeting feeling called love."

To say I was bewildered would be a great understatement. I am a simple man, and I thought that when you met a lass that you loved, who loved you in return, you got married and had children. I wasn't gentry or nobility, but I did have a legacy, and I was an Officer and a Gentleman. I was in love with her, so why would Amy not marry me, if she loved me as she said? It was a bafflement to me.

Amy could see my distress, and tried to placate me.

"Nothing needs to change between us Jack. We can still meet and make love. I have a couple of young sprigs of the nobility who are courting me; both are Viscounts in waiting, and will attain that rank when their respective fathers die. I shall marry the first one who reaches that position, and there is no reason why we cannot continue to be lovers after my marriage."

I was astounded, and the shock must have shown on my face.

"What Jack, will your love not survive me getting wed—-a poor, weedy thing is your love it seems." She was mocking me, and I spoke with feeling, and not a little anger.

"It would be shameful to gallop a married lady—-you will have sworn an oath to God not to commit adultery. I couldn't collude with you to break an oath. Marrying for position and then fornicating with a lover is no better than being a harlot."